I once had an excellent opportunity of watching one. The sea was beautifully calm, and blue, and the sky perfectly clear, when I caught sight of something white coming upwards at a little distance from the ship. In an instant the delicate white shell popped above the surface, twirled round, and the Sepia spouted out the water remaining in his shell, spread out his two sails, and threw out his six remaining feet, three on each side of the edge of his shell, which acted as oars, and scudded away before the wind. If you had but seen the glad little creature, it would have done your heart good. He seemed full of freedom, and life, and joy. The dark deep caves of ocean, with their corals and sea-weeds, and strange variety of inhabitants; the broad surface of the sea, the fresh breeze, the lovely blue sky, and the glorious light of the sun, were all at his command. "Thou the light sail boldly spreadest, O'er the furrowed waters gliding, Thou nor wreck nor foeman dreadest, Thou nor help nor comfort needest, While the sun is bright above thee, While the bounding surges love thee, In their deepening bosoms hiding, Thou canst not fear Small marinere; For though the tides with restless motion Bear thee to the desert ocean, Far as the ocean stretches to the sea, 'Tis all thy own, 'tis all thy empery. "Lame is Art, and her endeavour Follows Nature's course but slowly, Guessing, toiling, seeking, ever, Still improving, perfect never. Little Nautilus, thou showest Deeper wisdom than thou knowest; Lore, which man should study slowly; Bold faith and cheer, Small marinere. Are thine within thy pearly dwelling; Thine, a law of life compelling Obedience, perfect, simple, glad and free, To the Great Will that animates the sea." (_Hartley Coleridge._) You should read these exquisite lines with deep attention. There is an allusion in the second verse to the common notion that the form of a ship was first taken from the Nautilus; and, indeed, there is a very distinct resemblance in a part of the shell to the keel, and in another part to the poop. The sails and oars you will see best in the picture. Do you think that if the Sepia were a murderer and a thief, in possession of what does not belong to him, according to the notion of some naturalists which I was telling you of just now, that he could be so happy,--so in every way at home,--in his silver boat? If you had seen him as I did, I am sure you would agree with me in saying that he could not be any other than the rightful owner. After "the small marinere" had sailed some distance, he folded up his sails and packed them and his oars close into his shell, and went down like a stone.